


Manqué

by bokuwakero



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Murder, Nudity, arachnophobia tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokuwakero/pseuds/bokuwakero
Summary: From French, Manqué (adj.) having failed to become what one might have been; ex. “an actor manqué”Amélie opts to wander through the city before a mission and spots Lena Oxton on her way back home. Deciding to follow her, the French sniper has an interesting awakening.





	1. Trouvaille

**Author's Note:**

> CHAPTER 1/3 - TROUVAILLE  
> From French, Trouvaille (n.), something lovely discovered by chance; a windfall. 
> 
> Basically Widow being a creepy stalker and then BAM wow Tracer is cute and hot and I’m gay ???

Spiders can easily disappear into the night, crawling into alleys and corners with their multiple long legs and spreading an obnoxiously sticky web as a trap to their prey. They are sneaky, dangerous creatures, and once you’re caught in the menacing strings of its deception, no god or goddess could save your soul for even that they will devour. Apologies and pleads will not suffice. You should be thankful if a spider decides to kill you plain and simply, fast as the shot of a sniper whose enemy just fell into its sharp eyesight – a powerful, indiscernible web.

To the spider, however, little does it matter if you say “thank you” or “fuck you” before she eats you alive. What matters is the look in your eyes, when life is about to dissipate from your shell.

That is what Amélie Lacroix looks forward to every time she is sent on a mission. Not the reward, not the fame – she was quite a name inside Talon, after all – but the feeling of thrill that accompanies the hush of a murder. She was built to become a relentless killer, and the ultimate proof of that was how she mercilessly killed her own husband after a long process of neurological adjustments, earning her the title of Widowmaker.

It hardly surprised Amélie when her superiors sent her, on her own, to a mission in London. There was an important, government sponsored, lecture on the equality of rights to humans and omnics, which brought a large, opinion-divergent, crowd to the front of the library where it was going to happen. Most people supported the ideology of the lecture, but there were clearly many people against it, gathering in the front of the building with signs that said things such as “I wasn’t programmed to be alive!” and “I was BORN, not BUILT!”

An important politician, governor and activist of omnic rights, a woman who wished to be able to marry an omnic individual, would make a speech during the lecture. Widowmaker’s mission was to shoot her dead as she spoke about a peaceful and loving society, thus causing an immediate conflict amongst pro-omnics and the opposition.

The lecture was rather late, however. According to the data Amélie had been sent, it should take at least four hours for the lecture to start and forty minutes for her target to be presented. Sombra was in the other side of her intercom, and seemed quite relaxed about it.

“Chica, if you want to sit down and have a coffee, you have all the time in the world.” She heard her Mexican colleague in her earphone. “I can keep an eye on the security cameras if you want to wander around a bit. Your position is set, so there isn’t much point staying there and risking getting caught.”

“I have a job to do, Sombra.” She replied. “I will not sit down and have a coffee.”

“I know, I’m just saying. You’re too eager. You and Gabriel are always paranoid about sticking to the plan.” She heard the hacker sigh on the other side of the voice call. “Do me a favor and go see the town for a bit okay? You’re in fucking London, mi padre, be a normal person for once, a tourist.”

Sombra interrupted the voice call there – not that Amélie wished to extend that conversation much longer. Perhaps, she thought, she should do as suggested and go take a look around the city. London was a beautiful place after all. She could come back in two hours to begin set everything up and make sure her position was clean.

The sniper mostly wandered through rooftops, jumping from one to another with extreme ease and looking through parks, avenues and cityscapes. Amélie was almost considering going back when she laid eyes on something – or rather, someone, quite familiar. Her sniper’s visor gave her a clearer sight and confirmed her suspicion: wearing nothing but a sports-tee, shorts and sneakers, along with a gadget against her chest, Overwatch’s Tracer carried a simple bag of groceries down the street. Amélie’s lips drafted a menacing smile, as she recited to herself:

“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…” She put down her gun and jumped towards the next building, wondering where the Overwatch agent was headed to.

In the meantime, she checked her data on Tracer to make sure she knew who she was dealing with. Real name: Lena Oxton. 26 years old. No address, but possibly residing in London – as a matter of fact. The only person in the world known to have a condition called “chronal dissociation”. She wore a mechanism over her clothes in order to control her own time-line, which she indeed had on at this moment. There was little about her, but valuable information.

The new target entered a plain looking building. It seemed to be at least 200 years old so there were little chances of it having an elevator. The sniper patiently waited until one of the lights of the windows was turned on and watched intently. Oxton wandered around the apartment, doing daily tasks, always with a smile on her lips – the mere sight of it made Amélie’s finger rub impatiently against the trigger.

At one point, the bedroom’s light was on and with the dusk outside, Widowmaker could see quite perfectly inside the room. As reckless as a fly, Oxton began undressing before the sniper’s eyes, and Amélie caught herself admiring the scene more eagerly than she would ever admit. Her eyes were frozen on Lena’s slim figure, and before she realized, her heart rate had accelerated – not enough to tone her skin, not enough to parallel a normal human heart, but enough for her to _feel_ the change.

Her mouth was suddenly dry and her hands felt uncomfortably sweaty – _how could she hold a gun like that?_ Her grip tightened. Her breath was irregular as her lungs attempted pointlessly to follow up with the rate of her fastened heartbeat. Had her mind been this foggy from the start? Why couldn’t she take her eyes off Lena Oxton for those five minutes while she changed? Her _beautifully_ pale skin; the soft shape of her breasts bouncing slightly as the Overwatch agent stumbled towards her closet to find a clean shirt; the way her short hair seemed to have such an incredibly pleasing touch—these things awakened a craving Amélie hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. And for a woman, nonetheless? She had never experienced such a strong attraction towards the gender.

Amélie put down her visor and attempted to control her breathing. What was this feeling? This almost brought back…

What? What was there to bring back? It suddenly felt as if she was painfully aware of having _forgotten something_ , but she couldn’t recall it, no matter how hard she tried.

She lifted up her visor again, and Oxton wasn’t in the bedroom anymore – she had finished changing. Amélie desperately looked through the windows to catch a glimpse of her, and when she found her, she was opening the front door of the apartment to somebody else. Another woman, red hair, loving countenance and a smaller grocery bag with her. The red-haired woman put the bag on the couch. They seemed to be having a fine conversation.

That was when Lena Oxton pulled the woman towards her, closing her lips with hers and holding her by her waist. As soon as they kissed, Amélie felt an urge to focus her aim and pull the trigger twice – for a moment, she didn’t think anything else would feel better in the world, not even killing that politician she was designated to. Not only she might get rid of this shrinking in her chest, but also of an excruciatingly annoying target.

She put the gun down. She had a job to get done, there was no time to waste.

“Profite de ta vie tant qu’elle dure, chérie.” She murmured, standing up and turning away.

The chances of you falling into the web of a spider and getting out of it alive are near to nonexistent. If you ever do, however, life will never be the same for you – or for the spider that has let you go.


	2. la douleur exquise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2/3 - LA DOLEUR EXQUISE
> 
> From French, la douleur exquise (n.) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go!! i'm sorry that this took a while. I hope you all enjoy it. Again, I appreciate any commentaries you might have, critiques and even if you just wanna say you like it I get super happy!!

There were only ten minutes left for madam governor to begin her speech in the lecture. The last few minutes were the worst and the best, but Amélie had learnt to be patient and calm. There was no need to hush: it was amusing on its own to observe the sparks of chaos amongst the supporters and the opposition on the outside of the library. The police was having a hard time trying to keep the two sides from throwing garbage, rocks and sharp objects at each other – Doomfist would have been delighted by those provocations.

“Are you in your position already?” Sombra’s Spanish accent could be heard through the intercom. “I hacked the security cameras on the streets so they won’t catch a glimpse of you on your way out.”

“Oui. Everything is going according to plan.” Widowmaker’s position consisted on the fourth floor of a building on the other side of the street. That particular apartment’s balcony was on the perfect angle for Amélie to shoot a bullet through the library’s window. The downside was only that a 40-year-old man lived there, but now he was nothing but a corpse decorating the floor of the living room.

“Did you need to have any extras?”

“Oui, une gauche lived here and he didn’t seem like he planned to empty the apartment for the evening.” The sniper’s sharp eyes glared back at the man on the floor. “It is a very nice carpet, I suppose.”

“Pobrecito. Did he give you any work?”

“He did not. But you know that I love it when they do.”

“ _Que mujer loca_ …” She heard Sombra whisper to herself. “Fine, then, you have five minutes. Get this over with.”

The communication was interrupted and Amélie couldn’t help but giggle to herself. Sombra definitely didn’t understand the need she had for pulling the trigger with absolute certainty of the kill. The shiver that went up her spine once she did it, nearly an assassination _frisson_ , a wave of delight that could only be equivalated to…

What was it?

Perhaps there was something about her past life, a need which could only be filled by the thrill of a murder; and when murder has such a reward, it can become addictive – this, obviously, didn’t cross her mind, though. It would be necessary for her to remember _how to feel_ to make a comparison. But there was a recent event which she _could_ make a comparison with. Her mind traveled back to the rooftop across Lena Oxton’s apartment, where she watched her enemy in her most vulnerable and private moments. What she felt there, not even an hour before now, had been of an equivalent intensity of the ecstasy of a kill. Could it be that…?

There was no time to concern about that now. She turned back to look down at the street: the speech she had been waiting for was about to start. She could see madam governor standing next to the stage, waiting to be introduced to the listeners. All she had to do was focus on her target – everything would be done in a few minutes. She lifted her hand to switch the intercom’s channel to the audio inside the library and--

She heard a step. Immediately turning back, her visor on the perfect height to shoot a person’s head, Amélie felt a sudden lack of air in her lungs. There _could_ only be one person in the room with her: the 40-year-old man who was currently lying still on the floor. But there was someone else, and someone she didn’t expect to see again tonight.

“ _Caught in the spot!_ I wouldn’t expect any less of you.” Tracer spoke, also pointing her two guns at Widowmaker. “I seem to get in your way quite a lot, don’t I, love?”

The first thing Amélie noticed was that Oxton was now wearing her usual battle outfit. The smile, however, -- the excruciatingly, dreadfully, _beautifully_ irritating smile – was ever still on her lips. Lena Oxton was the type of person who would smile in the face of death, and _that_ would cost her her life. Nonetheless, even now that the sniper was face to face to her enemy, the sight of her nude figure through the apartment’s window was still vivid in her mind and her brain teased her with it whenever Tracer tilted in place.

“More than you would think.” Amélie responded to her enemy’s inquiry, realizing once again that her mouth was incredibly dry. “I do hope this is the last time.”

“Why, of course! Are you planning on turning yourself in?” the brunette giggled, not taking her eyes off Amélie not to miss a single movement. “Please, by all means! Do it now and that would save me a lot of work!”

“So you can come home to your lover?” A chuckle emerged from the sniper’s chest. “I am certain she would be pleased.”

Tracer’s face went blank for a moment, as if she believed to have misheard Widowmaker’s words. Her smile disappeared and her lips began to mouth “I beg your pardon?” but an amount of other questions popped inside her head. Once she realized that, in fact, she hadn’t misunderstood the information, disbelief and fright took over her countenance. She tilted in place once more, uncomfortable, unsure of what to say or do next. She didn’t know if it was best to blink behind Widowmaker and unload her pent on her, or try to talk to her and understand the situation. She decided to give it a little more _time_.

“How- How do you know that I have a girlfriend?” She spoke as she tightened her grip against her guns.

A soft spot. Amélie appreciated the other’s hesitation. She was certain now that, even if the English woman was given orders to shoot, she wouldn’t: it had become of a personal matter, and she would _want_ to know just how much Amélie knew about her girlfriend. In order to confirm her theory, she lifted her riffle over her shoulder. Oxton did not put down her guns, but she certainly seemed slightly less inclined to shoot.

“Have you been to my flat?” Oxton proceeded asking, unable to hide her insecurity. She was impatient by the lack of response. “I did think to hear somebody outside earlier. Was it you?”

A devious smile was drafted on the other woman’s lips as she perceived the fear in Tracer’s voice during the accusation. What a charming tone did it add! Suddenly, Amélie no longer felt as if she was the vulnerable part: she had turned the game around, and the fly was again on her hellish web. She felt as though she had the control of the situation, even if she had guns aimed at her at the very moment.

Pointing her riffle down, but keeping it close to herself, Amélie took a few daring steps towards the Overwatch agent. For a moment or two, Lena Oxton wasn’t sure whether to step back or shoot, but she ended up putting down her guns as the distance between them shrank to a couple of feet and it was inviable to keep her arms stretched. Now, the both stared into each other’s eyes and a soundless tension took over the atmosphere.

“Je pourrais vous séduire, n’est-ce pas?" She spoke in a soft tone, lifting her arm, slowly enough not to startle her opponent, and caressing the frame of Lena’s face until her fingers reached her chin. This way, she held the brunette’s face closer to hers.

“W-What? What are you-” Lena began asking, but before she could continue, Amélie had pulled her into a kiss.


	3. Atermoiements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3/3 ATERMOIEMENTS
> 
> From French, Atermoiements (n.) distractions or hesitations leading to procrastination.

 

Her skin was as soft as the sniper had predicted, and her scent, inebriating. As much as the agent did try to resist the closeness on the first few moments, she eventually gave into Amélie’s cold lips and reciprocated the kiss with the same eagerness. The sound of two guns dropping on the floor echoed dully through the apartment. If that act was out of astonishment or carelessness, Amélie could not tell. But she was trying her best not to drop her own gun as well while she melted against Lena’s soft lips.

Amélie’s hand found its way to the British woman’s nape and she pulled her closer before she could even let go to breathe and Lena willingly pulled her by the waist as well. _This_. This was the ecstasy she had been looking for after countless kills. The way her heart seemed to be on fire now: she never thought it could beat so fast! Even compared to the thrill of murder, her delight from now brought what felt like electricity through her skin and a breathtaking excitement she had never truly experienced before.

_She felt alive_.

As soon as they broke apart for air, Amélie’s mouth moved towards Lena’s jaw and she heard a repressed moan. What a pleasant sound! To think she herself had provoked the silent pleasure note made her mind spin. She proceeded planting kisses down Lena’s neck and digging her teeth into her skin mercilessly. Amélie wished to leave a mark, anything – the sting of a spider that would poison that innocent prey’s blood and send the venom into her heart, making her lust towards the same unfaithfulness far ahead. No sound came through Lena’s teeth, but Amélie could feel her grip against her waist tighten to tolerate the pain.

“I- I can’t do this- Wido- I-” the agent spoke, moving her hands to Amélie’s shoulders and attempting to push her back. “Stop!”

That was the end. The eagerness still ran in Amélie’s veins, but she was aware that she wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of Lena Oxton’s fragility. As she opened her eyes and saw the purple bite mark on the other’s neck, a smile made its way through her defeated countenance. Before she could move away from the brunette, she heard a familiar voice in her intercom speak in a low, yet amused sounding voice:

“Do I have to remind you that you have a job to do?” Sombra asked. Since Amélie did not switch the channels of her calls, she probably listened to everything. “I won’t tell anyone, querida. Just get the mission done before Gabriel shows up asking for a report.”

Sighing in irritation, Widowmaker kicks the guns at her feet behind her, out of her opponent’s reach. Pushing Tracer violently, the Overwatch agent fell on the wooden floor and the sniper took quite a few steps back, standing close to the balcony’s door again. She rapidly lifted her gun and aimed it at Tracer, who looked back at her in incredulity and fear – how could she have fallen for such a devious, poorly crafted trick? That would now cost her her life and she was too petrified to even blink out of there.

Before she could recompose, however, she watched as Amélie turned her back to her, aiming the gun at a single point inside the library across the street. Not a millisecond later, the sound of glass shattering and screams filled the entire center of London. The job was done and there was nothing Tracer could do to stop it at this point.

_Blink out of there. Blink out of there. Get out. You have to move, Lena_!, she thought, but even so, her muscles seemed to be paralyzed. Had that bite on her neck really have any venom in it, after all? As Amélie turned around once more, she expected Oxton to be gone, but instead, she found her sitting on the same spot, not having moved an inch, staring at her with an expression of absolute dread.

“You could have killed me, just now.” The brunette blurted in a weak voice.

“I could. But that was not my mission.”

“Was your mission _kissing me_?”

Amélie averted her gaze, slightly embarrassed. It was Oxton’s right to be angry now, it made perfect sense. The sniper shortened the distance between the two of them once more, kneeling on the floor next to Tracer.

“Clearly, it wasn’t.” She answered, feeling her heartbeat accelerate once more. Sombra should probably still be listening to their conversation. She had to dismiss this as soon as she could not to give the prick even more ammunition against her. “You have such a lovely smile, though, don’t you? I couldn’t resist. The next time we meet, however, do not expect it to be this pleasant. I will kill you faster than you can pop that pretty accent of yours.”

Amélie meant to stand up, but before she could consider the consequences to her actions, she planted a quick kiss on Lena’s lips. She then quickly made her way to the window at the end of the hall, opposing the balcony, and looked back at the brunette, who had now lifted herself up from the floor in a hurry.

“Wait!” Oxton still yelled before grabbing her guns in a blink and beginning to run towards the window.

“Au revoir, chérie.” Widowmaker said before disappearing outside, hooking the top of the next building and leaping onto it effortlessly. She ran towards the agreed point where Sombra was meant to pick her up and as soon as she arrived, so did a large, black jet that hovered on top of her. She hooked the open door of the aircraft and looked back just in time to see Tracer blinking onto the top of the building. As she entered the plane and they took off, she made her way towards the control cabin to find Sombra piloting. The hacker seemed to be waiting for her.

“Had fun with little miss time-machine?” She asked the sniper as she took a seat next to her. “I didn’t think you had a thing for the chicas. But then again you do have a dominatrix kind of vibe so I guess it could work that way.”

“Quiet.” Amélie ordered, putting her gun aside. “I don’t want to hear your voice now.”

“Ha, why?” Sombra insisted. “I don’t have a cute accent like hers?”

Teasing. That was Sombra’s specialty. She wasn’t serious about it now, but both of them knew that she now had the power to, if anything, cause Amélie a lot of trouble. If any of their superiors found out that she was getting involved with an Overwatch member, there was a high possibility that they would attempt to subject her to more neurological experiments. Even if Amélie lied, told them it had all been a trick to get the enemy’s guard down, it was too much to risk.

“If you tell anyone about this, I will not hesitate to put a bullet into your skull.” She threatened.

“Huh-uh.” Sombra mumbled, pressing quite a few buttons on the screen of the jet. “You’ll be locked up before that happens. But don’t worry, querida. If I ever decide it’s worth telling anyone,” She glanced at the sniper and smiled cunningly. “You’ll hear me asking for a favor before.”

Widowmaker didn’t reply to that. It was a clear and obvious threat and she should have known this would happen. It was her own carelessness that got her here.

“On the other hand,” Sombra continued. “How did it feel?”

“Pardon?”

“Kissing her, tonta. How did it feel?”

The sniper got lost into the question for a moment, being taken back to the feeling of Lena Oxton’s lips. She lifted her hand and touched her own – she could _still_ feel the warm sensation lingering on that spot. She already missed the energy provided by the desire and intimacy from a few moments ago. Perhaps, she was the one who ended up poisoned.

Sombra glanced back at her, still waiting for an answer. But nothing needed to be said – the spider had fallen into its own trap.

 ----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever to post this chapter, I got held up and couldn't get online. But here it is and I hope those who haven't given up on this fanfic enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot but I got hyped. I would definitely love some feedback since I never wrote anything on Overwatch. Stay tuned for the next couple of chapters!


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